


And It's Beginning to Snow

by jolybird



Series: Some Lovely Glorious Nothing [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Christmas Fluff, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:51:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolybird/pseuds/jolybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You never know if this Christmas will be the last normal one: </p><p>Snippets from the life of (some of) Les Amis before they're Les Amis (again). </p><p>;;</p><p>A Christmas-y prologue to a reincarnation fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And It's Beginning to Snow

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prologue of sorts to my monster of a reincarnation fic, set the Christmas before the events of the fic begin. I’ve been writing this whole terrifying thing for over a year now (it’s at a hundred thousand words right now—trust me, the only thing more horrifying than the length is going to be going back and editing the whole thing) and it’s actually sort of nerve-wracking sending a piece of it out into the world. 
> 
> But here it goes! Have some semi-obscure December fluff!

He loved the way you could lose yourself in the endless sprawl of city streets. You could run until you were so hidden in twist and turns and concrete buildings that the ones you love could never find you. It gave him a numb sort of comfort, a scratchy blanket of anonymity.

He loved his family and his friends but sometimes he had to get away. They overwhelmed him in a way he couldn’t describe.

At half-past midnight on December 16th, Quentin Lesgles was alone. He wasn’t running or hiding, just walking in his usual attire of athreadbare coat, hat and fingerless gloves. His knuckles were scabbed from where he slipped and fell on the ice the previous day and the week-old cut below his right eye was going to leave a scar. He still wasn’t sure if it was even physically possible for glass to shatter the way it had but he had gone back to that gorgeous bartender’s apartment afterwards so it was all good.

His friends were getting high in their shitty apartment where both their heat and electricity was turned off. He didn’t know if it was another mix up (worryingly common) or if they just had neglected to pay (equally as likely) but he was fine with it: it was all the more reason to stay out as late and as much as he could. He knew that his friends were going to fade away from him soon. They came and went in waves each time he went somewhere new. He had a set of childhood friends, work friends, friends from each different school he attended and none of them overlapped. None of them outlived the close proximity of the day by day. He was his own person, codependency was a foreign concept. As a result, he had grown tall and confident in himself.

The only problem was that his ever changing social circle left a longing in his chest that he didn’t know how to shake or define. The nights were long and cold and so he took several odds jobs that ate up his free time. He took more classes than necessary at university and knew at least twelve different routes back to the apartment. It gave him more freedom, more time to enjoy things that weren’t the four walls of his bedroom (one of which featured what he was worried was the beginning of mold up in the corner).

Today he used the showers at the gym where he worked part time at the reception desk (incredible water pressure) and he had just spent the last four hours in his favorite café on the river reading about pulsars. He’d had enough cash on him to buy a cappuccino. Now he took the long way back to his apartment to revel in the gorgeousness of the city. The night sky was bright, snow clouds lit up by the city’s orange glow. Metz was beautiful and he intended to savor ever last moment. He loved the city but he had just about outstayed his welcome. He could feel it in his bones, in the way his feet hit the pavement. Everything around him was starting to fray at the seams and that meant he had to start thinking about what he’d do next. Who knew where he would be this time next year after he graduated. There were hundreds of possibilities.

Although he was hunched over against the breeze, his walk was leisurely and there was a smile on his lips. Quentin was the one people were delight to have around but never actually sought out. Which was cool with him—having his schedule packed meant there was more likely something was going to go wrong.

It had been pure luck that had gotten him thus far. Most of it was bad luck but he managed to always make the best of it. He was a spur of the moment, see what happens kind of guy and it was pretty obvious in all aspects of his life. His uncles had already bought him his ticket home for Christmas knowing that, if left to him, he’d wing it and find his way home by any means necessary, overcrowded train, bus, hitching rides from friends. He’d done it all before.

He was taking the train home in five days and he was ready to see his loud, messy family again. He had been raised by a combination of his Uncles and grandparents after his parents had been killed when he was only a few days old. Most of his family wasn’t actually related to him, it was made up of misfits, acuminated over the years like mix-matched Tupperware brought over by friends and forgotten, never to be claimed again. They weren’t a polished matching set but they were his and he wouldn’t trade them.

He rounded the corner onto the street. In his bedroom window Christmas lights were visible only by the dark green wire against his white curtains, it was unlikely they’d ever be lit, but Quentin was nothing if not hopeful. As he climbed the stairs to the apartment, he could hear his roommates drunkenly singing Christmas carols and he laughed, ready for another impromptu party.

* * *

 _Echo, your voice in the crowd, tourists and wrinkle-clad_  
Parents. Untouchable, unnoticeable you pull your hat down and tug  
On your ill-fitting coat. Your love soaks the street with each  
New raindrop that drop unforgiving to the earth, seeps  
Into the dirt giving life to the flowers on windowsill  
Nine stories above your head. The roses and daisies turned towards the  
Early morning sun because already you’re gone and out of grasp.

 

* * *

Cosette was practically bouncing on her feet as she waited for her suitcase to show up in baggage claim. Her mother placed a hand on her elbow and she glanced up to see her smiling back at her. Cosette laughed, “I can’t help it. I haven’t seen her in a year. I can’t believe how quickly the time went.”

Her father walked around the conveyor belt with all three of their suitcases. The two women immediately took theirs from him and Cosette lead them down to the waiting area.

She gasped as a woman started waving furiously at them. Her hair was longer than she remembered, reaching the middle of her back and she looked skinnier. Next to her, her brother and sister were both smiling.

“Oh my god—look at you!” she cried and left her suitcase with her parents as she raced to hug her friend. The two girls held each other tightly for several moments, completely oblivious of the rest of the world around them and then they let go and Cosette turned to the other two.

“You look so much older!” she hugged her friend’s sister quickly and then bent down to hug the terror who had once actually frozen all of her underwear, knowing that this was the only hug she was going to get out of him for the entirety of the trip (maybe she’d get a goodbye hug but she wasn’t taking chances).

“Hurry up, let’s get to the car—I parked in handicap because apparently everyone’s traveling this weekend.”

“It _is_ the week before Christmas.” Cosette’s mother said softly.

“They didn’t have to all come during the weekend.”

Cosette laughed at the annoyance in her friend’s voice and linked arms, pulling her suitcase behind her.

They all piled into the beat up minivan in a rush. Their suitcases were stuffed unceremoniously in back, Cosette’s parents sat together in the back seat so that the two younger ones could bombard Cosette with about a million questions that her best friend pretended she didn’t want to ask herself.

“You brought my chocolate right? British chocolate is so much better than American chocolate.”

“Of course I did. I brought an entire box.” Cosette laughed as the boy cheered and danced in his seat. It was so good to see him happy. There had been too many late night/early morning skype conversations where he had sulked in the background on his sister’s bed. She glanced to her best friend tapping her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, and they both broke out into wide smiles when she caught her eye.

This, right here in this car driving into New York City, was her family and she couldn’t imagine spending Christmas any other way.

 

* * *

 _Perhaps some are born to love in ways others cannot; in_  
Origami sunrises and faded pencil promises,  
Nights spent dreaming and grasping for morning  
To bring light to shine on their faces as they face another  
Maybe someday without heartbreak. Lovers born to hold  
Each other’s hands and fill in gaping wounds with  
Ready smiles and gentle caresses, born to survive the worst,  
Caught up in each other and singing though  
Years and years of golden dawns.

 

* * *

 

Paris on the twentieth of December was dark and grey. Grantaire quickly brushed the snow off himself and then knocked on the light blue door in front of him. After waiting a heartbeat, he let himself in. Before he had a chance to call out and announce his presence, a woman burst through the doorway at the end of the hall and another woman peaked out from the dining room. Both had wide smiles on their faces. “Oh look, it’s the ghost of Christmas past!”

“And he’s brought wine!”

He laughed and hugged both of them tightly as they crowded around him, the three barely fit into the hall. “I liked what you’ve done with the place.” The tops of the walls were decked out in garland strung up with gold ribbon and white lights. The women didn’t even bother putting on the hall lights, there was enough light from the lights hung up around the apartment, dining room lights and the kitchen lights.

“She’s been processed by the spirit of Christmas.” The shorter one, Irma, sighed, elbowing her girlfriend lightly.

Grantaire laughed, “Aren’t you an atheist?”

Flo shrugged, “There’s just something about the materialism and commercialism of Christmas that just warms my hearts.”

Irma put her hands on Flo’s shoulders and turned the woman towards her, looking at her evenly, with the tiniest smile flirting on her lips. “Hearts plural?”

“How fast do I have to drink to catch up with you?” Grantaire asked seriously, glancing down at the wine bottle in his hands.

Flo laughed, “I’ve only had two drinks. And who says—“

“Well, if you are a Time Lord I’d like to visit Shakespeare please. Let’s go before dinner.” Grantaire interrupted, pushing his wine bottle into her hands.

Irma twisted around to look at him like he was absurd, “Shakespeare? Really?”

Flo paused to check the label on the bottle, made a little hum of approval, and then looked up at Grantaire crossly, “No I will not. You are going nowhere near him.”

“You’re a horrible time lord.” He sighed, pulling off his scarf.  
“I am, unfortunately, the only responsible one. Now, come in, come in, it’s time we feast.” She clicked her heels together and turned to go back into the kitchen.

“And she does mean feast.” Irma whispered conspiringly, gathering up the knitted mess of a scarf in her hands.

Flo turned around in the doorway to the kitchen, one hand on her chest, “My brain said three but my heart said twenty.”

Grantaire put his hands up in front of him, “Absolutely no one would ever complain about you cooking too much, Flo.”

“Irma does.” She responded stiffly, but when she turned back into the kitchen she was smiling.

“Is this your boyfriend’s jacket, love? Or have you finally bought yourself a winter coat. It’s hideous. But looks warm.”

Grantaire sighed and let Irma manhandle him out of the coat, “It is and it’s complicated.”

Irma tutted as she stuffed the jacket and scarf into the hall closet. “Oh sweetie, still?”

“When _hasn’t_ it been?”

Irma shut the closet door and then leaned on it, frowning in sympathy. From the kitchen, Flo called, “The two weeks you two were fucking without knowing each other’s name? The first three days you two decided to be a couple?”

“Thanks, Flo.” Grantaire groaned.

Irma sighed and then kissed Grantaire on the nose, “We just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy. It’s just complicated on the relationship front right now. “

Flo did a weird half-march, half-skip out of the dining room with a platter containing a vegan roasted ‘turkey’. She looked way too proud of herself.

“They only reason I’m eating that thing is because you made it.” Grantaire said as Irma pulled him into their immaculately decorated dining room. His eyes went wide as she stuffed him into a chair and he took in the truly impressive spread Flo had put together. “Holy shit. When you said twenty, you really meant twenty.”

“We can eat leftovers for the next week.” Flo said proudly as she opened the bottle of wine, Irma grabbed the wine glasses and Grantaire grabbed his fork to dig into the mashed cauliflower.

 

* * *

 _Back against the wall, she has never shone brighter,_  
Arrogance curls her fingers into fists, and dries the blood  
Hidden beneath her nails. The ground she stands  
On is wet, it drips, stains her shoes. Her lips, tinted  
Red, stretch into a broken grin. She knows  
Every face, every reason to fight, and she could never be  
Left out of the bloodbath that would save them all.

 

* * *

 

Jourdain moved around in the kitchen, pulling mugs and tea bags from the cabinet as the kettle boiled on the counter. Loud voices sounded from the hall and then two women appeared in the doorway, one leaned against the stove the other took a seat at the table.

“I really think you should stay with us this Christmas. It only makes sense.”

He turned away from the counter and sent both of them an even look. “Are you two going to do this already? Is that why you stopped by?”

They looked to each other, over-dramatically wounded, “We came to spend time with our favorite older brother of course!”

He sent them another even look and picked up the kettle, “Yeah, because calling me your brother isn’t going to convince me that’s _exactly_ why you’re here. Did your sister put you up to this?”

“You’re as good as our brother!” The blonde, Helen, protested, stomping her foot in a particularly dignified manner.

The other girl, Freya, identical to her sister save for her dark brown hair, dyed purple at the tips and a scar that stretched down the side of her forehead, “She did not. We don’t need an excuse to visit our favorite Combeferre brother.”

“Speaking of Combeferre brothers, we’re planning Christmas Eve dinner this year, which is like in three days already and need to know how many people are going to be there. What are your brother’s doing?”

“They’re going to be in Bali.”

Freya froze with a cracker hovering in front of her lips, “Wait, I thought just your parents were going?”

Jourdain shrugged, “No, they’re all going.”

“And you’d rather spend Christmas with us instead of in Bali?” Helen put her hand to her chest dramatically.

Jourdain smiled at her, “Well, yes, of course, but they didn’t invite me regardless.”

“What the fuck?” Freya gasped. She slammed her hand on the table, crushing the cracker. “Why the hell didn’t they invite you?”

He shrugged and sipped his tea, completely unperturbed by the fact. He set his tea on the counter and quickly fixed the twin’s tea to their liking. “At least I won’t get into an argument with them this year.”

“But—fuck I know your family’s gross and horrible but they didn’t invite you on their holiday?”

“I’m telling Mama to adopt you.” Helen crossed her arms, but Freya spun around in her seat.

“We can’t let Arianne and Bastien know, they’ll try to take him from us.”

“No one is adopting me.” Jourdain sighed

“Then we’ll just have to go with Plan B.”

“I volunteer!” Helen cried, waving her hand in the air with a laugh.

“Do I even want to know what Plan B is?”

Both girls turned to smile brilliantly at him, “Marriage.”

Jourdain shut his eyes and took a sip of his tea, “Of course it is. Everyone’s trying to make me choose one of you.”

“Pick me!”

Jourdain rolled his eyes and nodded towards the living room where a pile of Christmas DVDs sat on the coffee table. The best way to deal with the twins was to stick on a movie: they were infinitely less dangerous when they were half distracted. The three made their way into the other room, Helen carrying her tea, Freya, the crackers and Jourdain both his and Freya’s mugs.

Helen turned the TV on as she sat down and then quickly changed the channel, cutting off the horrific images of a detailed passenger train. “I can’t believe this happened. And so close to Christmas. It’s only four days away.”

“Did they say the cause?” Jourdain asked,

“The tracks weren’t properly maintained. Someone said something about budget cuts? I don’t know they’re all pointing blame right now.”

“Of course. No one talks about it until they’re forced to and it’s the people that suffer.”

“I know you’re both going to protest.” Helen interrupted, “But I really, really, _really_ want to watch A Christmas Carol.”

“You watched it two days ago.” Freya told her sister flatly but Jourdain just settled into the couch and grabbed his tablet from the side table.

“Go ahead, but I get to pick the next movie.”

“Totally not fair.” Freya protested but it was drowned out by Helen’s victory cry and subsequent fight to get the Blu-ray player to work. Jourdain sighed as he set the tablet down and went to help her as Freya shouted orders at the both of them.

 

* * *

 _When you stood from the table I caught the reflection of a stranger_  
Haunting your step. You fit together like twins, the same bitter  
One sided jokes and white knuckles. In another life I’d watch you go

 _Away again but here and now you are mine and I grab the scarf you never_  
Remember and trail behind you leaving the laughter to the past and  
Entertain your notion of the present with my prayers for the future as

_We wrap our arm around each other and head home. Let  
Each man’s past remain undisturbed and let the cold return us to life. _

 

* * *

 

“Roselle Aiobheann Courfeyrac get your ass down here this second or so help me I’ll return your presents!”

  
There was a terrible gasp from the living room as a door upstairs opened and footsteps sounded coming down the hall. “Santa will never let that happen!” a tiny voice called from the living room, causing the woman at the top of the stairs to pause, hand on her chest. Then she bounded down the stairs and scooped her little sister up into her arms.

“I was wrapping presents, Maman.” She informed her mother patently, rocking her younger sister in her arms.

Her mother glanced to her and then back to the bowl she was mixing, “I saw your dress downstairs, we have to leave in a half hour. Go get dressed.”

“But Christmas is tomorrow!” She protested, glancing back upstairs where she had more wrapping to get done.

“Yes and church is in thirty minutes. Priories, Roselle.”

Her little sister bounced excitedly in her arms, “Ro! I’ll help you get dressed!”

“Aww, thanks sugarplum.” Rosette kissed her nose and then set her down.

Their mother turned away from them with a decisive nod. “Great. Do her hair too—I’m not done with supper yet.”

Roselle’s youngest sister, Joycelyne, grabbed her hand and pulled her down to the basement. They past their sisters arguing in the wine closet and Joycelyne proudly held up Roselle’s dress for her to take. Without further ado, Roselle changed, tossing her clothes to Joycelyne to throw into a hamper. She did so in an overdramatic reenactment of a slam dunk, complete with cheering.

Roselle bent down so that Joycelyne could reach the back of her dress, “Zip me! Zip me!” She did so, screaming. “Hurry, hurry!” Roselle took off back to the spiral staircase that lead into the kitchen, her baby sister at her heels.

“Ro, you’re phone’s going off.” Another one of her sisters called from upstairs when the two reached the landing.

“Oh no.” she gasped, and Joycelyne overtook her and sprinted in to the other room, her little feet pounding as she headed upstairs. Their mother turned, unimpressed, “Be careful, ma cocette, I’m not driving to the A and E on Christmas Eve.”

“We’ll try.” She said with a cheeky smiling, and then she took off after her sister.

Said sister was nowhere to be found until Roselle reached her bedroom and found her sister laying on her bed with her phone to her ear, her little legs lazily kicking in the air. “Well she likes very sweet things so I think you should go with the most sweet one,” she was saying and Roselle paused in the doorway to listen. “Oh. Yes! I like pink so you should get pink.”

“Jo—who are you talking to?”

“My boyfriend.” She replied and turned away from her.

A frown appeared on her lips and then Roselle smiled brilliantly, barely suppressing laughter. She walked into the room and plucked the phone from her sister’s hands and then swatted at her to keep her from taking it back. “For the last time, you’re too old for my sister. I have four other sisters, all of whom are legal you can date.”

In the background, Joycelyne howled an overdramatic _Noooooo_ and rolled onto her back.

“I just wanted to know what kind of wine you want. Jo voted on pink champagne.”

“Yeah well Jo’s like five so she shouldn’t be making alcohol decisions but she’s very smart and pink champagne is an excellent idea, I’ll be making mimosas in the morning if you come over early enough.”

“I’ll get two bottles so you don’t throw a fit at six in the morning.”

“You’re a _saint_. Are you coming to church? Jo’s already called dibs on sitting next to you.”

“Yes, I’ll be there.” He groaned, and Roselle smiled, knowing the only reason he friend was even putting up with mass tonight was because of her family. “I’ll see you in—shit, like twenty minutes.”

“Shit.” Roselle echoed and then hung up. “Alright, you little terror, into the bathroom.”

“Can you braid my hair like Princess Anna.”

“Of course sweetheart.” Roselle promised, as her and her sister entered the bathroom and they nudged their sister Sophie away from the sink. She protested lightly but stepped behind them so she could still see herself as she curled her hair. Roselle glanced to the mirror and took stock of what she still had left to do, eye makeup and hair, before she picked up the brush and began to do her sister’s hair.

 

* * *

 _Friends you smiled and thus it was written, hello you breathed and_  
I was lost. I’ve been looking for you, you laugh and how did I  
Not realize. Our bodies were molded like jigsaw pieces, the  
Dimples on your cheek and the scar along my hip. Alone we can’t

_Move mountains and maybe we should be afraid of what  
Ends we’d come to when we can be so perfectly intertwined. _

* * *

Millau was blanketed in a thin layer of snow. The streets were subdued; the sound of cars passing by was muffled.

A car jam-packed with what looked like the entire contents of a dorm room drove slowly by; in the back window a laundry basket filled with clothes was visible. The car behind them held two men in suits, both signing along with the radio with wide smiles.

Laughter rose through the floorboards but the woman in the upstairs bedroom just covered her ear with her hand and leaned in towards her cellphone, away from the window. “I love you two too and I’ll see you in a couple of days. Please don’t completely destroy the apartment before then.”

She paused and then her eyes lit up and her breath caught in her throat. She started to laugh uncontrollably, barely managing to say goodbye before hanging up. She glanced up with one hand covering her mouth, the other clenched around her phone at her side, to see her uncle standing in to doorway.

“You checked in with your boys?” he asked, voice wavering teasingly on the word boys. She ignored it and nodded, slipping her phone into the pocket of her jeans. They were a new pair she had gotten that morning, bright red to go with the green sweater she wore. It had been her roommate’s boyfriend’s before she had stolen it: an owl wearing sunglasses and headphones, musical notes drifting up to the shoulder. He had laughed and gone out to buy himself and her roommate sweaters from the same collection. His was an owl with a champagne glass and a cute blush stitches across its cheeks, the other was bundled up against the cold in a hat and scarf. She had plans to steal them too. She just had to bide her time.

“Did they burn Paris down yet?” her uncle continued and she shook her head, a smile on her lips. “Well, let’s get downstairs and help your mother with dinner. I think I saw her cutting chicken and carrots on the same cutting board.” He left laughing, trusting her to follow. She briefly shut her eyes and sighed heavily.

She had been diagnosed with hypochondria her first year of Lycée, although quietly she thought she’d had it for years before. She had wasted so many nights sitting up in pain, heart racing, a voice in the back of her mind whispering, _this is it, this is really it this time_. She had thrown so much money away on doctors: birthday money, Christmas money, the entirety of more paychecks then she wanted to even think about—hers, her parents, her absolute saint of a best friend.

It was a joke to her family, the frequent trips, the extra scarf, umbrella ever-present in her purse. They didn’t see her crying, she made sure of it.

Not after—

Well.

They didn’t see her cry. She shrugged over their pathetic attempts at jokes. She brushed off the knowing glance when she’d look at herself in the mirror or touch her forehead with the back of her hand.

She had nearly ten years of experience dealing with this.

She was going to fucking enjoy Christmas.

“Zen, you coming?” Her cousin, Fay, paused in the hall and Zenaide slipped out after her. “Your sister and Aunt Victorine are in this intense Call of Duty battle—best ten out of fifteen last time I checked.”

“Is Dominique throwing a fit they’re playing her game?”

“Like it’s two thousand and six again.” Fay laughed and then took her arm as they headed down the hall, “Are you making Mont Blanc?”

“Don’t I always.”

Fay laughed, leaning on her and resting her head on her as they walked to the stairs. “Don’t tell the others, but you’re my favorite cousin.”

Zenaide laughed and held onto her as they descended into the madness that was Christmas day.

 

* * *

 _Friends fight and drown and devour for each other but_  
Everything they could do for you pales in comparison.  
Under your fingernails, dirt and oil, smoke clings to you hair.  
In the morning they find you dragging a new world screaming into the  
Light. The old ways knocked you down and no one, no one  
Let’s anyone suffer as they did, as you did, when there are better  
Years hidden behind heavy machinery.

 

* * *

 

The fire burned in the great brick fireplace situated between two floor to ceiling windows. A TV in the corner played the title screen for a stop-motion Christmas movie collection.

“Look.” The woman sprawled out on the chair said with a lazy swoop of her arm towards the windows.

The blond in the middle of the pile in the couch wormed his way up so he could see and frowned, “It’s snowing.”

“I want to go outside.”

“It’s snowing.” He repeated, trying to dislodge the toddler currently sleeping on his shins without waking her up.

“Don’t be a wet blanket, Enjolras.”

“That’s the plan.” He sighed sleepily, only just holding back a yawn.

She snorted and pushed herself up. She grabbed a pair of slippers from next to her chair and pulled them on. Standing carefully as not to jostle any of the sleeping forms in the room, she made her way to the balcony outside.

The wind blew softly around her, chilling her to the bone and whisking snowflakes through the air. She ignored it and leaned on the railing, lightly dusted with snow that melted under her arms. A moment later Enjolras shuffled out the door behind her, a blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders. His eyes were still half shut and squinted up at the sky. It was so much darker out here than in the city. The sky was a deep purple and the snowflakes drifted down like stars. “I think I’m forgetting something.” He said after a moment.

Julianne turned away from where she was making sure he hadn’t woken anyone up (he hadn’t), to look at him, “Like what?”

“Like—“ His voice trailed off and when Julianne glanced to him, he had a crease on his forehead and he squinted at the grass, slowly turning white as they stood there.

“Really?” She teased.

He turned his head to give her a withering look, “I’ve been up since five this morning. We called my brother.”

“Well, you nerd, that’s what it is. This is the first Christmas without your brother, isn’t it?”

Enjolras made an unhappy noise of agreement and shrugged instead of answering.

“You act just like a kid when you’re tired you know.”

“Excuse me, I’m twenty two years old.”

Julianne shrugged, “Exactly. You’re really just a baby still.”

“You’re obnoxious.” Enjolras sighed but as he looked up to the night sky, he had a small smile on his lips.

“Happy Christmas,” she nudged the human cocoon next to her. He turned to look at her wearily and she smiled wide. “You know you love spending time with us. You’re the little brother I never wanted. You can’t hide anything from me.”

Enjolras smiled softly, “Happy Christmas, Julianne.”

They had a moment of silence where they both watched the snowflakes drift towards the ground and then Julianne gasped. “You’re not wearing shoes.”

“Very well spotted.” Enjolras groaned but shuffled around and went back into the house, looking more like some strange version of an upright caterpillar than himself.

Julianne smiled and brought a hand up to cover her laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I actually did something not very nice in this. Whoops. But I’m not going to comment further because there’s 100k coming and if you miss it, it’s probably for the best!
> 
> I switched between first/last/nicknames for characters based on what who they’re with calls them. So for the majority of them it’s first names because they’re with their families. 
> 
> The poetry's meant to be Jehan’s! (Just pretend that it’s good!!) 
> 
> Chapter One will be coming in January (it's a hundred times less obscure than this, don't worry!). 
> 
> Happy Christmas!


End file.
